


hymns of a dead saint

by cesellia



Series: silent black birds [3]
Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Dark Alina Starkov, F/M, Hallucinations, Horror Elements, Paranoia, Religious Cults, alina finally loses it: the series, alina is allowed a pinch of sadism as a treat, playing around with the grisha concept because damn does it have potential to be fucked up!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29306766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cesellia/pseuds/cesellia
Summary: When faced with the unexplainable, Ravkans knew better than to try and unravel the mysteries of their ancient, accursed nation. They knew to turn a blind eye when a disfigured creature trying to appear human cried out for their help. They knew that finding out the truth would only push them down the spiral of insanity — too paranoid to ever sleep again, too paranoid to lay down their weapons when they hear the sound of a simple deer passing through, knowing that the vile creatures could take on any form.It's a shame their Saint did not share their caution.
Relationships: The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov
Series: silent black birds [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066439
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here's the third part in the Alina Finally Gets To Be Evil Series. like the other fics, you don't need to read a specific one to understand what is happening, as most only briefly mention one another. the tags can seem a little iffy, but its really not going to get that graphic and fucked up (but trust me, future fics WILL get that fucked up, that's a cese guaranteed)

“I thought we were in mutual understanding,” Alina breathed heavily and leaned forward in the oak chair. “Two years ago this sort of behaviour would have been tolerated. But do you know how long it has been? _Two years!_ I am raising an army. I can not have this level of incompetence from _you_ of all of my soldiers! Oh, stop looking at me like that. Why won't you listen to a single word I say?”

The _nichevo’ya_ stared up at her — tilting its head as if it were a dog, pitch-black teeth and foam coming from the mouth. In many ways, it did have the characteristics of a canine, to a certain extent, even its appearance shared the resemblance. The _nichevo’ya_ sat on its hind legs, eagerly awaiting the commands of its owner. However, with this _dog_ , she had given it plentiful of commands that seemingly go through one ear and straight out the other. When made of pure shadows, they listened to her and carried out her orders without fail, but with her light coming into the mix, they began to act like idle housepets.

With every passing day and the continuing growth of the _merzost_ creating itself within her blood, Alina’s own _nichevo’ya_ started to lose the shadows used to create them, replaced by a soft glowing light in their vacant eyes and bloodless veins coursing of sheer gold. She used to think that it was the shadows that made the creatures horrifying, but it was the opposite. The shadows shielded the viewer from the eldritch mess it truly was — limbs disproportionated; eyes too large and pupils too small; movement ungraceful and by all means _unnatural_. Or perhaps the shadow creatures were horrific in a way different than those made of light. As her powers grew and the _nichevo’ya_ became more and more beings of sunlight, she noticed subtle differences than those made previously. And the differences only continued to grow in numbers as the light engulfed their vile bodies.

Alina closed her eyes and sighed. No matter how idle they were, they were still incredibly _draining_ to bring into existence. It was by no means as bad as it were when she first began creating them, however. Then, one session would leave her nose bleeding and her confined to the bed until her legs remembered how to walk on their own. Over time, there were more _merzost_ to combat the drainage, letting her practice longer and harder than she ever would have before when her only teacher was a spiteful old mother that feared she would turn into her son. She wondered what Baghra would think of her now — a monster of self-creation and unrepentance. 

She clicked her nails in a slow rhythm on the chair’s armrest.

Alina was no monster, not yet at least. No matter what the Shu or the Fjerdans or Nikolai’s army screamed amidst fire and bloodshed, she had not morphed and distorted her psyche into one of a monster’s. The Soldat Sol were always quick to ensure the public that their oppositions spoke only of lies in terms of their Saint. Some even began to spread the rumour that she was more than that. Those far north were beginning to think she was an angel. And even further up, they said that she could very well be a _goddess_. No matter how hard she trained herself to hide any and all emotions, whenever a devotee would call her such a divine creature, she could not help but burst into an unflattering fit of laughter. Humourless laughter. Bitter, angry, _terrified_ laughter.

But that was just how things were. Northerners had always been more fanatical in their beliefs.

In the library of Os Alta’s grand cathedral where she currently resided to study, hundreds upon thousands of books laid in front of her for her disposal — each telling of myths and religious stories and historical records of the bizarre and strange that had been deemed too graphic or unorthodox for the public to have their hands on. Many of her nights were spent locked away up there, reading carefully through every document she could find to give her any sort of stable clue as to where Morozova’s third amplifier laid. As time continued on and the trails turned dead, she began to consider abandoning Morozova’s amplifier and create one for herself. Unintelligible and incoherent as they were, she possessed all of his known writings on the matter, and even if it would kill her, she _could_ do it.

But those restless nights of studying often diverged into falling down the rabbit hole of Ravka’s mythology, particularly those of Saints. In the north — it always was the north, it seemed — there were tales of a Sankta Kseniya, a Sun Summoner, who grew frenzied by her worshippers and her own inability to control her power. The _merzost_ she used so negligently turned against her, turned her into something inhuman and corrupted. A terrific beast that the Ravkans had been unable to tell that it was only their Kseniya and struck her with thirty-seven arrows in order to kill her. Only when the sun did not rise for six days did they realise they murdered a Saint.

Some religious scholars said the story was false. Others said it was true and highlighted the dangers of _merzost_. The dismissed few believed to know the truth — that Sankta Kseniya’s transformation into a beast was no accident, that she purposefully turned herself into something that would spread nightmares for years to come. Some of them insisted it was a heroic act, an act to keep her people safe from the forces of evil. Others said she did it simply because she wanted to be left alone. Like many things related to Saints, Alina could not listen to a cleric retelling the story without laughing anymore — perhaps that was because of her own sense of sainthood. She spent the last two years harnessing and morphing the _merzost_ into something of her desires, and she knew it to be impossible to do such a thing, not even for one of the strongest Grisha to have ever lived.

_You’ve heard of stranger things_ , she reminded herself, _You’ve_ lived _through stranger things._

No matter the truth of the story, Alina fantasised about what would come of her if she were to transform into a beast. A phoenix seemed to be the obvious form, but it took only one quick look at the _nichevo’ya_ sitting in front of her with its wings flapping vigorously for her to know she would have turned into one the most horrific, vilest beasts that even the most creative of minds could not begin to describe. 

“Well, there is no changing that today,” Alina said, returning her attention to the creature at her feet. “I have already summoned you twenty times today and you _still_ refuse to listen to me. How is it that you are still tiring me out? Am I not doing something correctly? Is that it? Or is it something else?”

She rested her head in her hands, but her train of thought was quickly interrupted by the wooden floors creaking under heavy feet. Standing in the doorway was a ragged man. In the years she spent in Os Alta, Alina could not figure out if he was young or dreadfully old. His eyes and voice were frightening youthful, but his body was wrinkled and grey. As he stood in the doorway, he did not speak, did not move — only watched her with unblinking eyes.

“Father Rasim,” Alina breathed in and rose to her feet, stumbling only the faintest. “I apologise if I am taking up space in the cathedral. I know that I said last week that my visits would be far in between and that I would only stay for a short few hours when I did, but,” she gestured to the shelves of books, “There is much work to be done, and I fear I do not have any time to waste.”

Rasim did not speak — his eyes had fallen to the creature resting at her feet. Whether it was fascination or horror in his eyes, she could not tell.

Alina gave a swift wave of her hand in the air, and the _nichevo’ya_ disappeared — the partial shadow of its body falling back to the darkness and the light portion burning out of existence. Always, there was a soft whimper to accompany it, but with years of practice and improvements unsubstantial, she could not even fake pity for the creature.

The priest’s posture straightened and he finally spoke, “Oh, Sankta, you need not apologise to me. We are all your loyal servants, and there is nothing we — nothing _I_ would not do for you. As incredible as it may sound, I would bring a sword to my daughter's chest if that was what it took to see you happy and flourishing.”

She pressed her hand against the armrest of the chair to steady her balance as she kept her eyes contacted with Rasim’s. What he had to say was nothing she had not heard before. Her followers claimed to kill their loved ones; beat their animals; slice and fray their own skin. All for the same reason — to see her smile. It had sickened her at first — it _still_ sickens her —, the sight of bruised and bloodied children, adults with parts of their skin cut off. And all they would do was mutter _Sankta, Sankta, Sankta_ over and over until her mind could not take it anymore and she sought escape and silence. The only thing that changed was her ability to hide how deeply it affected her.

“Um,” Alina paused for the slightest second, “Were you needing something? I know morning sermon begins in a few hours and that you keep your holy books up here. Really, I hope I am not getting in the way.”

She kept her voice steady but quiet — assertive but gentle. The voice of a merciful and merciless Saint.

A chuckle escaped from Rasim’s mouth, his throat dry and raw in the way all priests were. His movements were faint, gripping on to the shelf, the table, and then the armrest of the chair next to Alina. He opened his mouth to speak, and she could smell the residue of turmeric on his tongue, “I came to see you, actually, Sankta Alina. You have spent the last several weeks up here, locking yourself away from the public and reading these silly books. It would only be polite for the caretaker of this cathedral to greet their guest once in a while.” 

He slowly descended on to the chair and motioned for Alina to follow suit as he continued, “I have worked here for several years, have seen countless kings and queens. But I have never seen a ruler quite like you or the Darkling. I certainly would never have had a chance to speak directly with the old queen. And here I am, speaking with the first saintly queen of Ravka! The first Grisha queen as well!”

“Yes,” Alina folded her hands in her lap. “I admit I did not think I would ever see this becoming of me. And how could I? Only a few years earlier, I was,” she bit her lip — no, she knew better than to speak of such things that could potentially damage her if the wrong person heard, “Father Rasim, I must ask you a question.”

She shifted to face his curious, frighteningly youthful eyes. “Saints are born in a time of crisis — in a time of insurgence. When it was discovered I was a Sun Summoner, I was declared to be a Saint because they believed that my birth was to counteract the darkness. To destroy the Shadow Fold. And where are we now? I am not getting rid of the Fold, so what does that make me? What does that say about my birth? Father,” Alina reached forward to grab his war-scarred hand, “Do you truly believe that I am a Saint?”

Rasim smiled and placed his other hand over her’s, the clammy feel of his palm enough to make her want to recoil, but she did not. “Saints are not brought to this world only in times of trouble. Saints are figures of hope. They can appear in lush, beautiful villages where the children do not know what it is like to go the day hungry, and even then when their lives are already fulfilled and happy, the villagers welcome the Saint with open arms. It is the security and the knowingness that if something were to ever go wrong, the Saints would always be at our side.”

He pulled his hand away to reach for one of the books Alina had left scattered on the end table and continued, “Like Sankta Kseniya. Ah, she is one of the most misunderstood Saints to date. She was the protector of a village on the western side of the Fold. Of course, the Fold had not existed back then. Shu Han back in her day was an unclaimed plot of land that no one could decide who should keep it. Anyhow, the village was a lustrous place. You would not believe that it was run by the poor if you ever happened upon it. Sankta Kseniya appeared before the town one evening, bringing with her bolts of light far brighter than the sun.

“It did not matter that they cared not for a better life. It did not matter that Kseniya at the time had no true purpose for them — she wouldn't for another few decades. The villagers loved her. Worshipped her. Her body was made a pure gold and one could not resist the beauty of the divine. Every sunrise, she would await at the chapel for the men and women to kiss her knuckles and beg for whatever miracle she could give them. They loved her, but it was not enough.”

“She turned herself into a monster,” Alina added.

“She _sacrificed_ her mind, body, and soul to protect the village from the lingering darkness that threatened to swallow them whole. She died a martyr. But her story is a tragedy in the end. The villagers saw her new form and could not comprehend what they saw as their Saint, so they killed her. That sort of betrayal...it is not something even the divine can handle well. She cursed that small village. And to this day, _no one_ has dared to step into that place.” Rasim explained.

The library fell silent after that, and Alina was far too aware of her own heartbeat. The chairs were several feet apart, yet she could feel that turmeric scented breath against her skin. It was nauseating before it was anything else. But that _something else_ was a concern of hers. She tried to avoid being alone in the same room as one of her devotees.

_It’s time to go_ , she thought to herself, knuckles turning white from clutching her coat, _there is nothing good left for you here._

She rose from the chair and turned to Rasim to bow. “Thank you, Father Rasim. Your cooperation these last few weeks has helped me tremendously. Have a safe morning.”

  
  


Winters in Os Alta had quickly become her favourite season of the year after the official crowning. The people of the palace moved slower and the nights grew longer, and Alina found more time to slip away with Aleksander between meetings — finding the darkest corner of the library to hold their own private meetings. Hardly ever did they speak during those _meetings_ , far content with the silence and inaudible sweet nothings.

But winter was also the season of cold weather, and in recent years, it was edging on unendurable in Ravka. The sun was largely hidden behind dark clouds bringing far too much snow — dark enough that even in the middle of the afternoon, one could mistake it for nighttime. Her light was little help, the moment Alina was able to warm her numbing fingers another harsh breeze of cold air would hit and erase all progress she made. It became the only season she dared to dress in black, desperate to retain what little heat there was to offer.

However, on mornings like those — before the sun had a chance to rise —, the beauty of the city made the prickling pain worth it. The quiet ambience of harsh wind against the walls of buildings; the empty, pristine white streets, the tired mumblings of midnight guards returning to their homes. It truly was a place worthy of the title _Dream City._

Her morning walks often led her to the Grisha school — far smaller of a faculty than it had been two years prior when she first arrived. At the time, the sun was glowing, illuminating the white structure entwined with golden designs. Like all of Os Alta, it looked like a place one would see in the blissful afterlife. But now in the dark and snow, the buildings took on a new tone — the guarding gates of purgatory. Alina wanted to assure herself that nothing had changed in the city’s scenery, but she could not rid herself of the sinking feeling that something was dramatically different in the atmosphere around her. As if the heavenly glow that radiated off every surface had turned unholy.

The inside of the Grisha school remained relatively the same — not that she had ever had business to attend to there, but frequent flights of insomnia resulted in her mindless wanderings throughout the city, including the school. Floors encased with white marble echoed her footsteps as she walked through the hallways.

Alina still daydreamed about what would have happened if her powers had been discovered at Keramzin. Waking every morning to a soft bed and more food than she could dream of; running to the school with her hair dishevelled from sleeping in too late; learning about their history and the Small Science at the same pace as everyone else did — being some semblance of a normal Grisha while still being radically different from everyone else; forgetting the boy she spent a grand majority of her life being in love with.

She did not think about Mal often anymore, mainly because she still felt that incredible guilt for what she had done to him. Her hands still shook when he entered her mind, anxiety flooding over her with the overwhelming question of why she had not even _heard_ about him in the last two years. No sightings with Nikolai’s dwindling army. No whispers of a boy speaking blasphemies about the king and the Sun Summoner's sainthood. They were no longer connected like they once were, and he could have been dead in a potter’s field for all she knew.

Alina stopped herself from spiralling at the sound of a feminine voice humming further down the hallway. As she approached, she made out the voice to belong to a young girl — hair braided in pigtails and a freckled hand holding up a paintbrush to the developing mural on the wall.

“Maria,” she whispered to gather the girl’s attention, placing her hand on the wood steps of the ladder. “The sun has not even risen yet. What are you doing up at this hour?”

Maria perked her head up — her eyes glimmering with energy — and grinned from ear to ear as she responded, “I like to get up super early so I can finish the art project before anyone else, _sestra_. And I like the sounds of wind and snow in the early morning. We didn't get that a lot where I grew up.”

“But you’re still growing,” Alina smiled and tapped her arm. “It’s freezing in here. Mind showing me where the faculty breakroom is so we can have some tea and warm up?”

For a place as magnificent as the school, the faculty’s room was a tad more than depressing. Papers laid strewn on every available surface; oil lamps with the glass cracked; the walls and floors showed signs of wear and decay. And most revolting of all, there was no sugar in sight.

“I’m sorry I never have time to talk with you anymore,” Alina began, unable to hide the curling of her lips at the taste of the bitter herbal tea. “How have you been? I know with the winter festivities approaching you must be quite excited.”

“Mhm,” Maria fervently nodded her head. “Grandfather said that if I’m able to keep the house warm all month long, he’ll let me go with him up north to see the northern lights! He said the same thing last year, and I hadn’t been able to keep the fire going, but he still let me go! Have you ever seen them? The northern lights? They’re so pretty!”

The tea remained undrunk by both of them — one because it was far too bitter and the other because she preferred juice. Maria was kind enough as to keep the conversation going by herself, speaking of her memories and aspirations. It was all things Alina had heard before, and while her mind understandably drifted off to other things far more important, she partially continued to listen to the girl's story until something grabbed her full attention.

“They...say things about you sometimes,” Maria whispered, eyes darting towards the door as if someone would overhear. “They know that we're close, I think. And they always go silent when I try to figure out what they are talking about. Like they know what they have to say will make me upset.”

“They?” Alina asked.

“The teachers,” Maria said. “They say awful things about you. I don't know exactly what, but whenever your name is brought up, they make ugly faces. My classmates are the same way! They always act scared of you! Like...Like you would hurt them! But I know the truth, _sestra_ , I know you would never do something like that!”

“I know,” Alina sat the saucer down on the cluttered edge of the student desk turned kitchen counter. “I can not change how they feel about me. It will take them years to understand that I am their ally. I do not wish to do them harm.” _But I will_. “But sometimes they will just never understand that.”

“But it's unfair!” yelled Maria. “You’ve always been so nice to me...to all of us. Why can’t they just see that?”

“We do not always get what we want, Maria,” Alina slowly rose from the cushioned chair, using the movement to try and hide the growing distaste in her voice. “No matter how much we wish otherwise, it is a fact that we have to learn to accept. If I could make all of them understand, I would. I would do anything to confirm this nation’s loyalty to me. But all of my attempt up until now have been fruitless. Perhaps that is just how things are now.”

She brushed the strands of brunette hair out of her face. There was an uneasy swell settling over her heart — it felt that if she stayed, that swelling would burst and she would speak of things she should not say to a child, to _anyone_. “It’s getting close to seven. You should hurry off. I don’t think your teachers would be happy to find out you were sneaking around their breakroom with the queen.”

Maria blinked once, and again. And with the third time, Alina had to rub her eyes to make sure they were not deceiving her. The young girl wore an inexplicable expression that she was unable to place — tiredness? confusion? doubt? She hated not being able to read faces, and she hated it even more when whatever it was concerned her.

Alina struggled to move her legs, and Maria made no effort to leave, only continued to stare up at her with beady eyes and lips pursed as if wanting to speak but not knowing how to phrase it.

“The teachers often talk about what happened to the old king and the princes,” Maria whispered hesitantly, and Alina realised that the glimmer present in her eyes had been fear. “I...I know it isn't true, but it’s scary...to think that someone as nice as you would be capable of doing _that_.”

“What do they say?” asked Alina, bearing no guilt for the roughness present in her voice.

Maria tugged on the sleeves of her childish _kefta_ and darted her eyes away as she spoke with an unsteady voice, “That you had been the one to kill Prince Vasily. That, um, that you had watched without fear or sadness as those _things_ ripped apart him and the soldiers. That...with the King...—I know it wasn't your idea! I know you didn't want to kill him! I...I know that it was...was _his_ idea, but that's not what they think! They think you're a monster, _sestra_ , and they shouldn't because...because you're nice. I know that for a fact! You believe me, don’t you?”

Alina breathed. She was angry, or lightheaded, or tired, or _something_. She could not place the emotions inside of her at the sight of a little girl begging for her to believe her desperate plea. “I believe you,” she responded after the silence carried on for far longer than it should have. “But I must get going. You should leave too. I don't want you getting in trouble with your teachers.”

She patted Maria’s head before leaving her, and her legs could not move fast enough away.  
  


The Grand Palace was already bustling with activity when Alina got there. There were far more soldiers than there had been before — the Lantsovs never cared too much about the country’s wars even as they were fighting two nations and one internal threat — and the servants were struggling to accommodate them all.

Alina expertly shifted through the people without being spoken to and made her way to her office, hoping for even just a brief solitude before diving into the day’s work. But as she opened the door and saw one of her generals slouching in one of the two velvet chairs in front of her desk, she knew that would not be an option.

“Good morning, General Kirill,” Alina walked beside him. “I did not know you would be coming by...unannounced.”

“Really?” Kirill raised his bushy eyebrows. “I thought we discussed this last night. Over dinner, you insisted that I brief you on the Fjerdan attacks in the morning. Do you not remember that?”

“Right...,” Alina sighed and shame bloomed on her face. She sat down in her chair, letting her heavy head fall into one palm and the other motioned towards him. “Sorry. I must have forgotten with the night’s excitements. Please, do begin.”

Kirill leaned forward and paper rustled as he pulled them out of his pocket. “For the last six months, Fjerda has made no attempts to attack, but these last three weeks, they have been ambushing and taking the people of our northern harbours hostage.”

“Do we know any of the hostages?” Alina asked.

“Merchants, farmers, sailors. Not a single soldier or politician,” he answered. “Wherever they attack, they ransack their buildings, stealing all food and clothing that they can carry. But why would the Fjerdan army do that when they are already lush with food and fine fabrics? Their army has never acted this way. This group’s actions appeared desperate, as if it all just happened on a whim.”

“You think it was a Fjerdan group from something other than the military?” she tapped a finger against her eye, feeling the gentle pulse of a slow approaching migraine. “Wasn’t there a diplomat here last week? What was her name...Agneta? What did she have to say on the matter?”

Kirill snorted. “What do you think? ‘ _I apologise for their behaviour but really, we are not to blame_ ’ and ‘ _have you considered the possibility that it was because of you_.’ She then spent the next twenty minutes lecturing us on border patrols,” he rifled through the papers. “Agneta was obviously going to be a dead-end, but luckily Lord Ludomir sent me a letter two weeks ago saying he thinks he found out who was responsible for the attacks. But...I’ve lost contact with him.”

“Of course you have,” Alina sighed in exasperation. Her eyes could no longer register the general’s face, making it out to be a large, consuming void. “I wouldn't trust that man to take care of his own children, let alone fostering the soldiers that close to the border. Thank you, Kirill. Leave the documents on my desk. And please lock the door on your way out.”

She watched with her back straight as Kirill bowed before her and exited her office, and with the following of the _click_ of her door, her body relaxed, head falling to the cool wooden surface of the desk. Her head ached with every passing breath — unbearable pressure in the back of her left eye. She was no stranger to chronic migraines, the empty glass containers with medicine labels littering her office were enough to prove that, but they were becoming irregular. She always had a two-hour warning before it started, but now they were sneaking up on her — and they were far more painful than they used to be.

It always helped to distract the mind away with pain (or so that was what the royal doctors said), and Alina closed her eyes and focused her remaining energy on to her work.

Ludomir had always been unreliable. On numerous occasions, she had sent him messages that required urgent responses, and hardly ever did he write back to her until weeks after the urgency had passed. He was one of the Lantsov king’s favourite men which explained quite a lot — idle people preferred those who cared more about gambling and hunting than doing the task they were assigned. 

Alina rolled a pen underneath her fingers. She could send someone to his estate and demand an answer, but she had worked with that man for years now and knew it would not be enough to make him understand the severity of the situation. If she wanted to ensure that the message got through to him, she would have to see him herself. Her headache tripled at the thought of that, but she knew that was how it had to be done.

Sunlight poured in through the uncovered window, heating every surface of the room. Alina swore the sun was mocking her. Every day, she wished for heat in the bitter winter, but the one day when just the thought of warmth alone was unbearable, it finally decided to show. If it was not for her sense of dignity, she was sure she would have started crying from the frustration of it all alone.

At some point, the thundering of her brain against her skull numbed just enough for her to drift off to unconsciousness. It was far more uncomfortable than anything else — a blurring state of continuously waking up and falling back asleep; heat trailing sweat down her body; an aching body for sleeping in a poor position. There was no dream to sustain her — which Alina could not tell if it was a curse or a blessing. Feverish dreams were almost always nightmares that dug up past experiences she never wanted to remember, but it would have been at least _something_ to keep her company through the dwindling void.

What could have been thirty minutes or several hours passed. It was the sound of footsteps beside her to properly wake her up. She did not need to open her eyes to know who it was — that faint, inexplicable scent of moonlight; the cool fingers on the nape of her neck sending a cold shiver down her entire body.

Alina stirred under his touch — slowly forcing her body to sit up, her hand firm around his wrist to keep him from pulling away. Her lungs felt cold and painfully empty when she began to speak, “I thought I had Kirill lock the door behind him.”

“You did,” Aleksander spoke in a low and quiet voice to match her own. “But you didn't give me the key to your office, and you don't live for hundreds of years without learning to unlock locked doors by other means.”

“Tamar must love you for that,” Alina tried to laugh, but it only came out as a harsh, dry cough. She blinked. The room was far brighter — too bright — than it had been when she fell asleep. “What time is it?”

“Just past twelve,” he answered, trailing his hand up from her neck and into her hair. “You didn't come to bed last night nor breakfast this morning, so I wanted to make sure everything was alright,” he frowned, “And clearly it's not.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” she said, but the faltering of her voice did not help her case. She forced herself to her feet, paying no mind to the darkening of her vision, and slid her hands up the sides of his neck. “How many times have I gotten sick since we've been here together? More than either of us can count. This is nothing, Sasha. If I really was sick, I would’ve been passed out in some corridor by now.”

Aleksander chuckled, taking a strand of her hair between his fingers and curling it. “That’s what you said last year...right before you caught influenza,” he let go of her hair. “But I believe you. It's more likely that you've just been acting stupid these last few days rather than you catching the flu again.”

“ _Stupid?_ ” Alina’s face scrunched up. “No, no, no. That’s not what I was saying. Where did _stupid_ come from?”

“You’ve been depriving yourself of sleep to reread the books we already know will not help us; spending your nights in the grand cathedral and breathing in black mould — and don’t try to say you haven't been there, I can smell the turmeric on your clothes; _and_ you've been playing outside in temperatures that even your light can’t protect you against,” he smiled bitterly, fingers trailing down her jawline tenderly enough to earn a shiver from her. “I think I have permission to say that your actions have been at least a little bit stupid.”

She kept her lips pressed in a firm, straight lines, but they trembled with the urge to break out into a smile. Her shoulders slacked, and Alina hid her face in the crook of Aleksander’s neck when the embarrassing heat rose on her face. “Alright, you win. I was a _little_ stupid.”

She could feel his shoulders shaking, desperate to stifle back a laugh while his fingers found their way back to their home in her hair. “Sick or not, you could use some medicine,” he began. “I’ll have someone fetch Alenka. Then, you should take the day off. I know your generals would be relieved to find out they won't have to deal with you today.”

“Because I act like a madwoman when I’m like this,” Alina finished for him before hesitantly pulling back. “Actually...I can’t today. Lord Ludomir claims to have information on the recent Fjerdan attacks, but he has gone unresponsive. I was wanting to take Tamar and a few others to accompany me in paying him a visit.”

“Just have someone else do it,” Aleksander suggested.

“I’ve done that already. Seven times, to be exact,” she said. “Ludomir doesn't listen to anyone because he's used to the Lantsovs who let everything slide. Having his queen show up at his doorstep with two mad Heartrenders might invoke enough fear in him to get him to listen to us. And...I could go about it by...others means if that isn’t enough.”

“Other means?”

“He has two daughters,” Alina explained. “The youngest has consumption and she's currently rotting away at a lovely sanatorium in Os Kervo. The other just turned sixteen, and being the entrepreneur that she is, Ludomir has been making plans to give her fifty-five per cent of his business so she can expand it and bring in more money for him. It...certainly would be unfortunate if we just so happened to shut that hospital down and force her to move back in with her family, risking the chance of spreading the infection to them. And the eldest daughter, she's strong for her age. She would make an excellent addition to the First Army.”

“And if that doesn't work,” Alina continued, waving her hand towards the malformed _nichevo’ya_ manifesting under the window, “I could send one of those in. They're weak and harmless, but he wouldn't know that,” her hands rested on both sides of Aleksander’s throat, a smile and a tone that did not match the words she spoke, “He wouldn't know the true horrors of _nichevo’ya_ if it ripped his wife into small, bloody pieces.”

Adoration glimmered in Aleksander’s eyes. “Oh, my sweet Saint,” he brushed his lips against her jaw — never kissing her as that would never grant him the satisfaction of hearing her whine in frustration. “You’ve grown so much.”

Alina remained unmoving (though that was nearing impossible with her quivering body) as his lips travelled up to meet hers — hot and eager as they always have been. Both of them had always taken pride in their borderline unhealthy obsession with one another — that horrifying willingness to set the country to burn just to see the other smile, those tender moments turned violent and bloody — be it from a knife or their own teeth.

“I almost can't believe that you are the same girl that tried to kill me on Lantsov’s ship,” Aleksander whispered, his breath hot against her skin, and Alina wanted nothing more than to close the gap between them — but to do so would be accepting defeat for a second time that day and she was not willing to stoop so low as to let him win. “But I can still feel it, that hatred for everything and that insatiable need for power. What do you think would have happened if you possessed this power back then? Would you have killed me and become Lantsov’s trophy wife? Or would you have come to your senses and turn the blade against that Oretsev boy?”

She flinched at the mention of Mal — that familiar twist of self-hatred plunging itself into her heart. All she could be thankful for was that Aleksander did not seem to notice the subtle slip.

“Alina,” his arm was firm around her waist, keeping her snug against him. There was hardly a centimetre between their lips, and Alina lifted her chin and closed her eyes to encourage him to close the gap and finally kiss her — but all she got was hands on her shoulders, pulling her away. “Have Alenka join you on your trip.”

Alina blinked. “ _Sasha_.”

“You may be feeling better for the rest of the day, but you have an unfortunate history of getting violently sick at the most inconvenient of times,” said Aleksander, grinning at the sight of her disbelief. “What? Did you actually expect me to kiss a girl sweating profusely and risk getting myself sick as well?”

Rage swelled inside her chest, and Alina clenched her fists together as she spoke through gritted teeth, “ _You little_ —” she swallowed back that anger and let her hands fall folded in front of her, soothing her voice into a tight, feigned politeness. “Fine. Send Tolya to find her on your way out.”

She ignored him as he kissed her forehead and whispered her his goodbyes. When her office was cleared and silent, she fell back into her chair and let out a long, exhaustive sigh. The migraine was still there, a distant hum that was certainly going to spike in pain later that day.

It did not take long for Alenka to appear. She was hardly any older than Alina, yet her once glowing skin was grey and beginning to wrinkle, vibrant dark hair turned dull and flat and twisted into a tight bun that promoted breakage. Her red _kefta_ was exchanged for a drab shift with stains all over it (sometimes those stains were from medicine, patients’ spit, and even blood on the rarer occasions.)

“ _Moi soverenyi_ ,” Alenka began when she entered the room, wincing at the first sight of her. “Were you needing something from me?”

Alina motioned to the chair in front of her. “Sit down,” she said. “I have a favour I need to ask of you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Alina left with the Heartrender twins and Alenka before the sun rose that next morning. With the steady growth of _nichevo’ya_ at her command, her fear of an ambush began to dwindle. But even so, Ravka was fighting more wars than they ever had, and any chance of elusiveness was not a thing to be wasted — especially as someone as high ranking and hated as her.

Three of them spoke little. Tolya drove the coach, Tamar picked at the empty space between her finger and nail with a dull blade, and Alina had her head pressed against the coach’s cool window — watching the scenery twist and reshape with the rising sun, its golden appearance shining down on the thick blankets of snow. Alenka was different, filling the silence with her endless stream of monologues — something that did not surprise Alina an iota. Healers took a unique pride in their abilities. A pride that could easily be described as arrogance. She loved having an audience, be it her patients or two royal officers who did not care for what she had to say.

“I had someone come in last week,” Alenka began, raising her hand to above the coach door. “About this height. For the life of me, I can not remember his name, but his appearance was something that would never leave you. He had these reddish-green bubbles all over his skin, from his neck all the way down to his toes. I thought it was only a bad case of blistering and the colour was caused by an uncommon amount of pus, but when I cut open one of the bubbles...he had something inside him that does not occur naturally within the human body.

“I still do not know exactly _what_ it is, and I have one of my assistants running tests on the substance to find that out. Anyways, the patient, that poor boy, woke up two days ago in the intensive care ward _screaming_ , as if...as if someone was performing a lobotomy on him while he was still conscious. Mind you, this was three in the morning, and we had to rush and solve whatever his problem was so that our other patients could rest easy. He was kicking and screaming at us, and we struggled to put the restraints on him.

“I forgot to mention that just a day prior to this, his movements were sluggish and he could hardly hold up a mug. Yet there he was, feverish and insane, tackling one of the doctors trying to help him to the ground. After we strapped him down, we sent him under and _Saints_ if the silence that followed was not most appreciated.”

“You’re a Healer,” Tamar interjected before she could continue with her story. “Couldn’t you have just healed him of his ailments the moment he walked through your clinic’s doors?”

Alenka paused. “ _Yes_ , but I am a woman of science just as much as I am Grisha. I will not disregard my oath as a doctor to uncover the secrets of the human body just so the bearer of those secrets can feel comfortable. I want to help him, of course, but I need to fulfil my original purpose first.”

“Your _original purpose,_ ” Alina chimed in, having only vaguely listened to the doctor’s monologue for the last two hours, and dragged herself up by her elbows to a proper sit, “Is to serve and keep the Queen in good health. Now if you insist on telling stories, try to refrain from telling the gross ones.”

“There is nothing gross about bubbles of strange substances appearing on the skin, _moi soverenyi_.”

“Yes, yes there is.”

“Fine,” Alenka huffed. “I can tell an interesting medical story that isn’t in the slightest bit disgusting... Right! Three years ago, I received a corpse from Kribirsk. The preliminaries revealed nothing of interest, and I was annoyed because I couldn’t find anything that would make the corpse of any use to me. But then, I looked inside them and can you guess what I discovered? Semen from two different _animals_ —”

“ _No_.” Alina and Tamar said in unison.

“Oh, come on,” she ran her crooked fingers through her hair. “The soldiers love to hear that story. It makes for better storytelling than telling the ones of me aiding paralysed people into regaining their strength. It’s not every day that you find corpses with things inside them that certainly should not be in there.”

“I think we should just sit in silence until we reach our destination.” breathed Alina.

Tamar closed her eyes. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  
  


For most of their voyage through East Ravka, Alina was in a state of being half-asleep half-awake, an overactive mind that would not stop worrying about what could happen if she were to let herself drift off completely. What little dreams she had were full of warm fires and staring up at starless skies with just as warm arms holding her close. The part of her awake listened intently to the world surrounding her — the whistling wind, the pattering of horseshoes on rocky grounds, the slow sharpening of a blade.

It was not until their sudden halt and an unnerving atmosphere spreading across them that Alina opened her eyes, preparing to be blinded by the afternoon sun, but instead, all she saw was the endless, devouring void of the Shadow Fold. It did not matter how many times she traversed the blackened landscape (which was truthfully only three times in the last two years), the Fold always had an unsettling feel to it. Like it had hooked her gut and was trying to pull her in, wishing to consume her the way it had done other travellers in the past. 

“Oh,” Alina whispered. She had meant to say more, to address the wariness growing on her companions’ faces, but the Fold stole the breath from her lungs. And she could not deny the fear growing within her, unsteadying her hand as she went to open the coach door.

That close to the Fold, there were no crickets or birds to be heard. Any lifeform smart enough would know not to go near that place. There was no snow there, only ash-coloured grass glistening in the sun that hung from its midday position. She could not believe that the same travel distance two years ago would have taken her five days now only took her six hours. Perhaps it was only because of the few people with her, or maybe time was starting to play tricks on her memory.

Alina pulled herself up next to Tolya. Her pale hands glowed with sunlight, and she tried to focus on their warmth as she gave him the nod to continue forward.

She inhaled and held on to that breath as she raised her hands to part the Fold in half — only a small division, appearing as a crack in an old, porcelain vase. It was large enough for the coach to slip through but small enough that no unfortunate traveller would be able to see. Squinting her eyes, she could just barely make out the golden light shining through the other side.

“How long will we be inside it?” asked Alina, never taking her eyes off what laid in front of her.

“This isn’t the VY. This road hasn’t been used in...probably a couple hundred years. It could take us about three hours if not longer,” Tolya explained and noticed the tight clenching of her jaw. “I can try and make us go faster, but the tires and the horses are not going to like it.”

“Do what you must,” Alina rested her head on the back of the seat while her hands remained fixed in the air. “But you _cannot_ let me fall unconscious. I don't care if we have to be in here for three hours or twelve, I have to remain awake through all of this if we want to survive.”

“Understood, _moi soverenyi_ ,” Tolya nodded and whipped the horses to bring them to their maximum speed.

Above them, Alina watched the edges of her light twist and morph into one with the Fold. There were remnants of what resided there before its creation that she could still see within the opening. Wheels of carriages overgrown with sickly vines that flew up in the air as they passed by; discarded cloth that could have been apart of a dress or once-mighty flag now laying unrecognisable in the mud; a wooden sign tipped over and rotted to where the words were unreadable.

Her head ached and tore with every passing minute. At one point, she was sure the tearing she heard bleeding through her brain had actually been the screams of _volcra_ , either in pain or hunger. She opted to keep her eyes closed, fearing what horrid beasts flying on the edges of the Fold her eyes would make her conjure. She opened them occasionally, praying to the Saints that they would be nearing the end of the nightmare, and disappointment and worry spread across her whenever she realised they had not made much progress.

She had done this before, and at the time it had been as strenuous as creating a ball of light. But she had had Aleksander there with her all times to strengthen her ability, making her forget that what she was attempting was something not even a normal Sun Summoner could accomplish. If she were to succeed, it would be a testament to her powers that her worshippers would use to convince others of her sainthood. And the thought alone was enough to plant the seed of doubt of whether or not this was what she wanted to do.

They were halfway through the Fold when Alina lurched forward and slammed her burning head against the cool metal dashboard. Air struggled to enter through her lungs, and she could vaguely make out the feeling of her internal organs shutting off as if her body was giving all remaining energy sources to her light. Tears streamed down her cheek with the pain of her brain splitting into half.

_I can’t do this_ , Alina thought to herself. _Why did anyone ever think I would be able to do this?_

Her eyes did not need to be open for her to sense the light slipping and the Fold slowly consuming her powers. The horses yelped and spurred out of control as the darkness trickled towards their hooves. She could vaguely hear Tolya’s voice stuttering, “Al...Alina?”

_This is it_ , she felt the warmth leave her fingers. _This is how I die. In the place I was born to combat._

She heard Tolya banging on the coach wall and then yelling out, “Get the rifles! We’re going to have to fight!”

Alina’s body shot awake with those words. She had been so concerned with the pain and horror that she forgot what giving up would mean — _they_ would die too. And as much as the twins would have seen it to be an honourable death, she could not allow it.

“No!” she barked out, forcing herself up and ignoring the cries of her body. “I can do this! Just make sure I...whatever happens, just make sure I _do not_ stop.”

The light returned to her command, bursting through the Fold as she pushed the darkness back to where she had it. The pain refused to recede, but her uncertainty did. With her body trembling from exertion, Alina held out her light with clarity until she could feel the winter breeze against her skin and see the purplish-blue sky twinkling with stars.

When they were finally in the clear, her arms fell to her sides, and the Fold collapsed back to its original position. For a moment, she only sat there, staring at the sky and relishing the return of the sounds of nature. And then her bottom lip began to quiver, and then she was leaning forward and bursting out into an unflattering sob. She could not reason out _why_ she was crying, only that it helped release all that tension built up in her body.

Tolya tapped her shoulder. “ _Moi soverenyi,_ are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Alina said in a weak voice, clearing her throat and continuing with more surety. “I’m fine. I just...I need to rest for a while. Make sure the horses are okay and let's continue the journey to Lord Ludomir’s.”

She pulled herself out of the driver’s seat and struggled to retain her balance. The sun had fallen, and it was deep into the night — meaning she must have been using her powers at full force for well over six hours. It would surprise her if come morning she was still alive.

Getting into the coach, Alina became far too conscious of the swollen redness and wetness of her face. Her three companions were those she had known for a long time, and they certainly had all seen her at her lowest and whinest — Alenka especially, having taken care of her in the Little Palace more times than she would like to admit —, but with her new status, it felt wrong and unnatural.

She quickly wiped away the tears with the soft fabric of her _kefta_ and dropped a blanket down from the compartment above her before curling up in her seat. With the easing of her mind, she became aware of the thick, heavy aura across the three of them. Tamar sat with her rifle clenched in her hands, steel eyes staring down at the floor beneath them. Alenka, someone who so commonly wore only self-righteous smiles and dark circles underneath the eyes, sat alert — eyes bewildered and hands wringing.

“It’s...not every day that you get to see that,” Alenka said, seemingly noticing Alina’s unease towards her. “Seeing the other side of the Shadow Fold while still on the opposite end, I mean. I don't think another Sun Summoner could do anything close to that. You...You might be the only one for the rest of Ravkan history to be able to do that.”

Tamar’s eyes briefly went up to meet hers — showing Alina a flash of anger directed somewhere she could not place — before falling back to the floor as she spoke, “Get some rest. You won't do yourself any favours by staying awake in your state.”

  
  


Alina fell into a deep sleep separated by two dreams — the idle flashing of colours and lines that so commonly plagued her sleep, and the hungry nature of the Fold. In those dreams, she was surrounded by _volcra_ drunk with blood and slowly approaching her with unstable steps. Her light would not answer her calls, even as she was left screaming and bleeding, it would not come to her. The dream replayed itself over and over again up to the point where one of the creatures gave her the fatal blow of claws in her throat. In most iterations, she was alone, but there were a few with a figure standing over her — whether they were supposed to be a threat or an ally, she did not know. She was too terrified to look them in the eyes, if they even had any.

She did not know what exactly had pulled her out of unconsciousness — if it had been the dreams’ unsettling nature or an external factor. Moonlight poured in through the windows, and she shifted to look outside. In the darkness, she could not see much, only the flickering of candles in the windowsills of homes and the occasional person walking slowly with a lantern in their hands.

There was something not right with the picture in front of her, yet Alina could not place what it was. Her hands itched to produce light, and the exhaustion that would accompany the travail of manipulating something as grand as the Fold was absent. It was something she wanted to feel relieved of, but she knew that the absence of something that _should_ be there was more than likely a cause for concern.

Alina looked over at the others and sensed they felt the same. Alenka gazed down at her veins with a curious expression, and Tamar looked almost _frightened_ , tapping her foot against the floor and darting her eyes back and forth outside the window.

She swallowed back the dryness in her throat and asked, “Where are we?”

Tamar lifted her head. “Fifty kilometres from Ludomir’s estate,” she answered plainly before meeting her eyes. “Can you...Have you noticed it as well? There's something off with this place. The moment we entered, I felt something. I felt...thousands of more heartbeats than I should for such a small village. Alenka over there won't even answer me.”

Alina looked over at the Healer again and realised that she had not moved a centimetre — her eyes fixated still on her wrist’s veins and a smile that was a little more than unsettling. She tapped Alenka on the shoulder and called out her name.

Alenka cocked her head. “How come none of the other Healers have tried to raise the dead?” she asked with a voice distant and flat. “I’m sure I could do it. You could too, probably. I mean, we all three know you aren't a _normal_ Sun Summoner. A _normal_ Sun Summoner wouldn't have been able to do half the things you can. Manipulating the Fold. Creating creatures out of _shadows_. You must agree that that’s far from what could be considered normal.”

“Well, there’s not a lot of Sun Summoners for me to compare myself to,” Alina forced a smile. “What’s all this about raising the dead? I never took you to be the type to be interested in necromancy.”

“I’m not. I’ve just...started to sense something.”

“Something?”

“My powers feel heightened,” Alenka explained, lifting up her hand. “It feels like...like I have an amplifier. One of those amplifiers that force a Grisha to their full potential, and _Saints_ does it hurt. I can barely feel my head, and when I do, I just feel myself spinning and spinning _and spinning_.”

She fell into a delirious laughter and did not respond when Alina shook her shoulders. Alenka had always looked older than she actually was — wrinkles and dark circles from years of stress that she refused to let a Tailor remove —, but at that moment in the pale moonlight, she looked far younger, a face more appropriate for her age. The implications of that were enough to make Alina’s stomach churn.

Alina shuffled back to her original spot curled with the blanket and looked at Tamar. “Put her to sleep.”

Tamar nodded and silently brushed her fingers against the nape of Alenka’s neck and positioned her unconscious body to lean against the window. She looked out the window towards the moon and said, “It will be morning before we reach Lord Ludomir.”

“Good thing we left early, then,” Alina responded. Her eyes wandered across the village that was now disappearing behind them, cursing at herself for not paying enough attention and trying to find a sign that would give its name. Even as they exited the village, she continued to feel that strange itching for power.

“Alina,” Tamar said after the village was far out of sight, and the usage of her name and the tone of her voice made Alina’s body tense. “...How are you so sure that you can trust him? Before the Little Palace when we were on Nikolai’s ship, you were _terrified_ of the Darkling. He threatened to hurt you, _which he did_ , and kill Mal who was the man you loved the most.”

“Tamar —”

“On the night of the attack, there was blood and death and fire everywhere and you were _crying_. When he ordered the King to be executed and killed those poor men who were only trying to protect their king, you were crying. You were distraught and ruined, and he did not offer you even the slightest bit of solace.”

“Please, Tamar,” Alina pinched the bridge of her nose. What was she supposed to say? That Aleksander only did what he had to do? That those subsequent nights were spent with his arms pressing her firm against his chest until the horrors passed? That what had spurred her to tears was not the deaths or atrocities but rather some foreign feeling? It did not matter what she said. Tamar would always find a way to twist her words and make him come out as the villain. “Just...let’s drop this.”

“No,” she said harshly and immediately regretted her tone, biting her lip and releasing a heavy sigh before getting up from her seat and moving in front of Alina — taking her hands into hers. “I love you, Alina. I love you as my Saint and my sister. My loyalty lies with you. Not the Darkling. Not Nikolai. Not even Ravka. If you asked me to burn this country to cinders, I would. ...I just need to make sure you are safe and happy.”

“ _I am,_ ” Alina assured her, pulling away from her grasp and laying her head against the window. “When we were at the Little Palace, I was confused. I...I couldn't tell friend from foe, and with every passing day, I couldn't help but think I was doing something wrong. At the winter fete, Baghra pushed me out of the palace and told me who I could and couldn't trust. From that point on, I just blindly followed her orders and I was too busy running to ever stop and think if what I was doing was right,” she idly ran her nails down the frozen window, watching the moisture form and pool up at the edge of the sill. “I can't force you into trusting him. I know that would be impossible with you and Tolya. Just...trust me if nothing else.”

Tamar brought her hand up to her chest and bowed. There was a sad smile on her face and she spoke, “Yes, _moi soverenyi_.”

  
  


Alina could sense that morning had arrived long before she could see it. Harbours in the morning had those particular atmospheres that anyone could point out. The saltiness in the air, the screeching of sea birds, the waves crashing down on to the beaches. She wiped the sleeve of her _kefta_ on the condensation blurring the window and looked out to see the harbour’s sights.

They were implementing a lighthouse, one of the first in Ravka’s less populated cities. Ludomir had commissioned it himself, paying in full for both the materials and the workers. His sudden change in behaviour had piqued her interest at the time. He had been the type of man to never give more than ten thousand roubles to any government project, but there he was — paying the full price for one of the most expensive structures in that part of West Ravka. But her interest faded into frustration when she began to suspect that that was the reason for his more frequent absences as of late.

Most of the harbour’s residents were poor, some living below the poverty line and having to hide out in one of the many abandoned warehouses — facing the threat of starvation and tetanus. Those lucky enough to afford one of the slowly decaying homes also struggled greatly. Food was scarce to come by despite their access to the sea and diseases were not uncommon among those who could not afford vaccinations.

Ludomir’s estate sat upon a grand hill, overlooking the harbour and sea. Large, silver gates decorated with his family’s crest wrapped around the manor. The manor had been made out of red brick, and the little guest and guardhouse to the side were painted white. Beautifully large horses ran free in the pasture behind the house, and if Alina were to point out any more extravagant details about his home, she might fall sick.

They arrived at the front gate, and Alina ignored the numbness in her legs and pulled herself out from the coach, the strong waft of salty air was far from pleasant hitting her face. The guards standing watch in front of gate eyed each other as she approached, the red-headed one bowing and speaking, “ _Moi soverenyi_ , we did not receive word that you would be visiting.”

“I did not see it necessary,” said Alina. “Is Lord Ludomir in? I have urgent matters to discuss with him.”

The red-head scratched at his temple as the silent one unlocked the gate for her. “He usually isn’t up until ten after his heavy nights of drinking and gambling. But...I’ll go fetch someone to wake him.”

He took one step backwards before bursting out into a sprint towards the manor. She could tell his movements were from the sense of uneasiness and fear of being so close to someone like her, and Alina could not help but feel a satisfactory smile pulling on the side of her face.

At the front wooden porch of the house, Ludomir’s wife, Lizavieta, sat in a rocking chair, watching Alina with cold yet soft eyes. She had won her battle against tuberculosis a year prior, but she came out weak and never seemed to get any better. Her once thick black hair was now stringy and thin; her mouth remained open and her drying lips suffered greatly from it; her brown eyes stared fixated on whatever was in front of her, and on multiple occasions, Alina had misjudged and thought her to be dead.

Alina stepped on to the first plank of the porch, and Lizavieta squinted her eyes and spoke, “Oh..., it’s you,” her voice was weak and dry as if she had not used in several months. “A warning would have been nice..., you know? This close to the Fjerdan border..., you don't get a lot of people who like Grisha.”

Lizavieta forced her body out of the chair, swaying as her legs were far too skinny to withstand her weight. “Is that what this visit is about? Fjerda, I mean? I don't think my husband can be of any help to you. Not any more at least.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Alina.

Lizavieta silently motioned for her to follow her into the manor. The interior of the house was just as Alina expected from a man like Ludomir. White marble flooring; golden doorways; paintings of all the noblemen of his bloodline. It reeked of self-obsession the further she travelled inside. Newspaper clippings of all the wondrous things he had done, including the most recent lighthouse project. Stacks upon stacks of books written by him and his father, detailing the nature of maritime explorations in the last four hundred years.

Alina followed her into a drawing-room. A fire was lit, and several small servants were huddled around it. One of them, a little blonde boy, locked eyes with her and tugged on the other servants’ sleeves, and they all quickly scurried out of the room — that first boy stopping at the doorway to gawk at seeing the Queen face to face before being pulled away by another, far older, servant.

“Would you care for some tea?” Lizavieta asked, sitting on the leather sofa across from her. “Ludomir and our daughter do not like the taste. They think it's too bitter, but they never even add any sugar to it. So I am the only one that drinks it here. Do you have a preference?”

“Elderberry would be fine,” Alina answered. She crossed her leg over the other and gazed out the window, the half-constructed lighthouse visible from where she sat. “I heard that Lord Ludomir has decided to pay the full price for the lighthouse. A bit of a change of heart, wouldn't you agree?”

Lizavieta’s lips curled at the mention. “That man is a fool. Everything he’s been doing lately..., oh, it's going to our downfall. First, he sends our little girl so far away to that hospital. Then, he cut ties with some of the major sailing companies that import here. Now, he's spending more money than he ever has. And if my...condition returns, we may not even have the funds to pay for my recovery.”

She brought her handkerchief up to her eyes and dabbed away the wetness. Crying hardly ever looked good on a person as old as her, but having been once a beautiful lady now stripped down to a slowly mouldering corpse, Alina could not help but find her appearance pathetic, not that her expression would ever hint at that.

“Oh, I am sorry, _moi soverenyi_ ,” Lizavieta pushed her handkerchief into her dress’ pocket. “I never cried this much before. But after all this... _Oh Saints_. Please, don’t bring any of this up with _him_.”

The room fell quiet and footsteps echoed through the drawing-room as Ludomir entered with his hair dishevelled and shirt buttoned incorrectly, his voice slurring as he loudly complained, “Seven in the morning. Who could be so important that I need to be woken up at _seven in the fucking morning?_ ”

Ludomir’s eyes fell down to meet his guest, and the sudden wave of fear that washed over him made it difficult for Alina to not smile as she bowed her head and spoke, “Good morning, Lord Ludomir. I can see that you had a lovely evening last night.”

“ _Moya tsaritsa_ — I mean, um, _moi soverenyi!_ ” Ludomir hastily ran his fingers through his hair. “I apologise for my crudeness. I’m used to local soldiers and officials coming by — please, don’t be —”

Alina raised her hand, and he fell silent. “You don’t need to worry. I came by to discuss the concerns you described having about the Fjerdan attacks in your letters to Kirill,” she smiled and mouthed a ‘thank you’ to the maid delivering her her tea. “Also, I want to discuss your frequent absences from our mandatory meetings. The ones with the lords and barons this close to Fjerda. And as it were, you sent a letter to Kirill claiming to have information to help us tremendously, and then you never explained yourself further by stopping your correspondence with us.”

“Please, I am so sorry,” Ludomir wrung his shaking hands and sat next to Lizavieta. “The ports, you see, something strange has been happening there these last few weeks...and I am just too frightened of what may come of it if I leave!”

“Dear Saints...,” Lizavieta muttered and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Being scared of something does not give you a free pass to neglect the duties you pledged to do in the name of Ravka,” Alina said. “And your neglections have been going on for far longer than a few weeks. Your actions may have been tolerated with the old monarchy, but not with this one.”

Ludomir twisted at the buttons of his shirt as he gulped, “Understood, _moi soverenyi_. But please, would you listen to what has been happening? I don't...I don't have a full grasp on the situation, but it is certainly something sinister!”

Alina motioned her hand for him to continue. “As I said, it started a few weeks ago. The ports are usually so peaceful at night, but on that night, everything was different. There were ships in the harbour. Large ships! Ones that you wouldn't see in this part of the country. They were dark, and they looked to have weapons on them. They didn't look to be Ravkan or Fjerdan or from any country that I could tell.

“I thought nothing of it at first, but then one of the locals, this sweet...redheaded girl, she came up to me, crying, and said that her parents needed help. Her parents were old, you see, but they were extremely healthy, the wealthiest second to me. Now, I had had dinner with them the previous night, and they looked completely fine. A few gross wrinkles and dry skin but _fine_. 

“I followed that girl to her parents’ home, and they were _dead_. Their skin rotted and the skulls showing. I thought...you would think that those were two corpses that had been decaying for weeks. But she said she had talked to them only three hours prior. Their bodies had decomposed at a rate that shouldn't be possible!”

Alina sipped her tea. “Are you trying to tell me that you saw a strange boat one dark night and a single unexplainable death and decided to use that as your excuse for your absences? That just sounds like a mixture of paranoia and a medical mystery.”

“He’s lost his mind,” Lizavieta explained, never raising her head. “You want to know why he wants a lighthouse? Because he thinks that it will keep away that ship that he saw a grand total of _one_ time.”

“There were more occurrences!” Ludomir yelled and his breathing became unstable alongside his emotions. “The locals! Listen to them, they know it! My wife doesn't believe it, but it's true! They’re...They’re these _phantom_ things. They’re trying to curse us! All of us! I can’t...I can’t let that happen!”

Alina sighed. “Lord Ludomir, calm down. I will let you off with a warning for now. But any more failed correspondence from you, and I will have to roll out some punishments around here...starting with your daughters,” she sat the teacup on the table between them. “Now, please tell me the information you have on the Fjerdan attacks.”

Night came far slower than Alina would have wanted it to. Ludomir had spent the entire day draining her of her energy by repeating his fears and woes relating to the harbour. It had taken him another three hours to give her any substantial information on the attacks. It had all made her want to banish him then and there. The information he had could have saved them from the most recent attacks and if there were to be another one caused by his insolence, she was sure she would not be able to keep herself from doing something rash (which, considering her slow increase in irritability over the last few months, it wasn't something too hard to believe.)

Alina stripped off her _kefta_ and threw it on to the chair in the guest bedroom. There was a tear between her body. On one hand, it had been a stressful day — a stressful _week_ — and sleeping on a large bed with far too many blankets was appealing. But on the other hand, the light inside her was churning in restlessness and settling uncomfortably at her wrists.

She sat down on the foot of the bed and held out her hand. It was not uncommon for her to yearn for her powers, but this was different. It was a thing, a feeling, that she struggled to hold control over.

Light formed around her fingers, flowing between them with every habitual tremor of her hands. It wanted _more_. Alina could feel it rising from her chest and threatening her from the inside for more. Yet, she was not so sure what _more_ was. She was no stranger to lusting for more power — the two amplifiers and the _merzost_ coursing through her blood were proof of that, but this new sensation felt different from that.

Alina wanted to give in to what she believed it wanted. Expand and consume. She could have easily flooded the room with her light and let it settle into every little thing — inanimate or otherwise —, but she was not so sure if it would end there. Her light, when given the chance, made her become greedy, and if she were to let it consume even a little, that greediness could turn against her and hurt her or others.

She lazily watched the light grow larger, forming a pulsing ball between her hands. Three years ago, she would have wished there to be a plentiful supply of Sun Summoners — making her just another forgettable face in a group of Grisha, but times had changed and there was now a certain rapture in being the only one of her kind left alive. A certain pride in watching her light grow, knowing that as long as she lived the chances of another Sun Summoner being born were slim to none.

The light expanded, but there was no time to relish in its warmth as thick shadows pooled around the light, eating away at the warmth and leaving a painful chill to run down her spine. That was _not_ her doing, and to keep it from spreading any further, Alina threw and disintegrated the ball of light in front of her, burning up to cinders before vanishing. But the shadows were still there, lingering in front of her and slowly consuming everything, and in fear of the unknown, she screamed before remembering she was not alone and pressed her hands over her mouth.

With the absence of light and the increasing darkness, her body grew cold. Alina did not dare to move for several minutes, staring fearfully at the shadows forming in front of her before she blinked. And then blinked again. She lifted her hand off her mouth and experimentally held it out in front of her eyes. It shook far more than normal, and she could see that the _shadows_ were blinding whatever was in front of it. Her head began to throb.

“Migraine,” Alina sighed in relief and threw her body down on to the bed. “It’s just a migraine.”

She laid there unmoving even as hurried footsteps approached her door, opening it and one of the servants squeaking out, “M...Miss? Are you alright? I thought I heard a scream.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Alina said, trying to raise even an arm up, but her body simply would not budge. “But...I think I am going to rest now.”

“But, um, _moi soverenyi_ , you haven’t eaten since you arrived here this morning, and Lord Ludomir prepared a grand feast for everyone. Surely you must be hungry!”

“I think I can survive a few more hours without eating,” she exhaled. “However, please apologise to the Lord and Lady for me.”

Alina heard a murmuring of noises coming from the servant before the door was closed, and she was left in solitude once more. Moonlight entered through the large window beside the bed, basking the entire room with its tranquil light. Her eyes fixated on the moon and the clouds that passed over it, and when consciousness finally slipped from her, she did not resist.

And for the first time, in what felt like a _very_ long time, she dreamt of Mal.


	3. Chapter 3

_It did not rain there, ever._

_Alina found that strange for the grounds she walked on were muddy and heavy pools of water lined the sides of streets. The locals insisted that it was just_ like _that. That it simply had not rained in ‘several years.’_

_“They’re deranged,” Mal leaned down to whisper in her ear. “All of them are. I can’t say I blame them. Can you imagine us settling down here? House made out of the same thing we walk on? That stench of the sea following you to bed? Eating dirt flavoured sandwiches? It would be enough to make even that blond little prince go mad.”_

_Alina did not respond. Hardly ever did she speak to him in that state. It was not because she was angry or exhausted or whatever other excuse she had used in the past. It was because she could not recognise him._

_No, that wasn't true. She knew it was Mal. He still had those endearing brown curls that flew everywhere with the wind. Those dark blue eyes that matched the midnight sky above them. But there was something not right with the way he talked and addressed her._

_In Novyi Zem, he could not go three minutes without grabbing the collar of her dress and kissing her. He would spend those few waking hours they had together staring at her, admiring her dishevelled beauty that continued on even after all that they have gone through. But now, he would not do so much as touch her, no matter how close he got to her. Alina would look up at him to try and pry him into looking at her, and the rare times he did he wore an expression of disgust._

_She didn’t need to ask to know why he looked at her like that._

_“You should've said yes to Nikolai,” Mal said suddenly._

_The winter breeze struck Alina’s face like a slap, knocking her off her balance and almost sending her to the wet ground. “I’m sorry?”_

_“I said,” Mal took a step closer to her. The unfamiliar edge like a sword being drawn in his voice sent her heart faltering. “You should have accepted Nikolai’s offer. You wanted to be a queen so desperately. You should have just accepted the sane man’s offer. At least then you would still have free will and fight for Ravka’s future. Why did you choose him? To become his dressed up, pretty little slave? Is that really the life you want to live?”_

_“You don't know what you're talking about.”_

_“I don’t?” he grabbed the sleeve of her plain coloured shift, and from there, it bled into that intricately designed black_ kefta _that Aleksander admired so deeply. “He’s made you into his doll. And what do you think will happen when he runs out of uses for you? Do you think he’ll let you continue sitting at the throne? That he’ll still love you? What makes you think he won't just kill you where you stand?”_

_Alina pried herself out from his grip. In the distance, she could hear the melodic horns of a ship coming into a harbour. Mal had not changed since childhood. He was still that stubborn little kid that refused to see any other options that differed from what he liked. She could have argued with him the way they always did. But she was just so_ tired. _Her legs could barely withstand her weight, and her eyes hung with the heaviness of deprivation. It was almost as if she never left._

_She turned herself away from Mal, watching the ship slowly make its approach as her hands dug into the jagged texture of her collar. She hated this. Hated the silent treatments. The fights. All of it. She just wanted everything to go back to the way it used to be. The games. The laughter. The nights they spent together underneath tables eating jars of Ana Kuya’s sugar cookies._

_“Look at me,” Mal said. Alina shooked her head, shutting her eyes tightly to where she started to see colourful lines when he gripped on to her shoulders and turned her around. “Please, Alina.”_

_She exhaled with exasperation. When she opened her eyes, there was nothing to prepare her for what she saw. That disfigured mess of what was once a man. A face rotted with moss and insects crawling across the empty eye socket of the exposed skull. She had not noticed what happened to the rest of his body, and the Saints were merciful for that. But the horrors she did see were enough to make her scream at the top of her lungs — loud enough for her to just barely make out what he had to say._

_“Is this what you want him to do to me?”_   
  


Alina did not scream when she woke up. She tried to, but there was a growing pressure in her lungs that would not allow it. She thought of one of those demons from the fairytales she was raised on that would sit on a sleeper’s chest, laughing maniacally at their suffering and feasting upon their body once they died.

The imagery of Mal’s face would not leave her mind. That disgusting, vile image of the boy she once loved followed her as she pulled herself by the elbows to sit up. _Is this what you want him to do to me?_ She was not scared about what Aleksander would do to him, she was scared of what _she_ might do. Her anger was not something she could control with ease when it snuck up on her. And with everything unfolding as it were, who was to say she wouldn't be the one to kill Mal when the time came?

“This is ridiculous,” Alina muttered. “It won't come down to that.”

It was still deep within the night. Three in the morning to be exact, if the clock hanging on the wall opposite to her held any truth. With the absence of fires and people’s conversations, Alina could distinctly hear the ocean and the seabirds’ obnoxious screams. And with it, the ghost of hands ripping apart her ribcage to pull her by the lungs.

Ignoring her protesting locked joints, she slipped out of the warmth of the bed. The seeming weightlessness of her powers from the previous night was gone, replaced with a lethargy that made it difficult to operate her body. Pulling herself into the marbled bathroom and forming light at her fingertips, she struggled to hold back the pitiful laughter running up her lungs. Just two days without Genya’s beauty treatments have not done her well — dark circles underneath the eyes and the faint shadow of hollowness in her cheeks.

Alina did not bother to question the logic of her body being fatigued — it could have easily been due to her manipulation of the Shadow Fold. She had grown weak in all previous times of manipulating it even a fraction by herself, and she was more than willing to accept the possibility that Sun Summoners, like all other Grisha, were not _meant_ to manipulate something as destructive as that. No matter what her worshippers or own intuition said otherwise.

She returned to the bedroom, but instead of granting her body the rest it needed, she began to look through the oak wardrobe. Whoever had inhabited the bedroom before her had a similar size to her but a significantly different taste in clothing. The dresses, ranging in a variety of colours, held no shape to them and required the assistance of belts or corsets to look like something more than a nightgown. 

The one she picked out was white, deceivingly heavy for cotton, along with a brown overcoat that weighed down uncomfortably on her shoulders. Without her _kefta_ and with her hair braided to the side like a common girl, there would be no reason for someone to recognise her, she thought at least. After all, she knew very well that she did not have the same elegance and beauty as past queens. She knew she never would, given her immortality’s unlikeliness to let her look any older than seventeen.

Alina slipped out into the dark corridor of the manor. At that hour, the only people awake would be the guards stationed there, and being that far out of a city, she would have no problem evading them. She watched her feet as she walked, slow to not let any sleepless individual hear her. However, her plan of escaping by herself would become fruitless as a door creaked open behind her.

“Where are you going?” asked Tamar. Her voice was slow and sluggish, the resolute of missing out on the hourly pot of coffee that was always hot at the Grand Palace.

“Outside,” Alina turned to face her. “I just need some fresh air so I’m stepping out on to the front porch for a few minutes.”

Tamar’s eyes looked her up and down with a slowness that threatened to kill. “You’re dressed rather heavily for just that,” she said and stepped forward. “Where are you actually going, Alina?”

Alina sighed and closed her eyes, but that simple action had been a mistake as Mal’s body was awaiting her on the back of her eyelids. Lifeless, his body even more decomposed than it had been in the dream. “I’m going to the harbour,” she answered and looked at Tamar. “I...need to distract myself for a little bit. You’re welcomed to come just don't draw any attention. I’m not really in the mood to be angering the local anti-Grisha.”

The harbour was within walking distance. Thirty minutes to get there and thirty minutes back. As they walked, Alina calculated the trip. She would spend no more than an hour there, so by the time she would return to the manor, it would already be five in the morning and the house servants would all be awake. At that point, she would not be able to get any more rest, which was a fine arrangement really — Tamar was trained to go long hours without sleep and Alina did not want to know what awaited her when she shut her eyes again.

As they made it into town, she noticed the street lamps were on — bright and blinding to the naked eye — yet the streets still felt uncharacteristically _dark_. As if the light illuminated had no effect and were simply being eaten by the surrounding darkness. The concrete grounds were damp with rain from the previous night, and in the puddles, the moon reflected all its beauty for the world to see.

Alina ignored the feeling trickling up her spine. It was subtle and easy to ignore, and if Ludomir had not spent the entire evening talking about it, she doubted she would have ever even realised it was there. It was entirely foreign to her, but she knew what it meant — even if she didn't want to. _It_ did not want her there.

With every step closer to one of the ports, the ocean rang louder in her ears and the feeling grew in intensity — suffocating her lungs with water and that familiar sting from the bite on her shoulder. The wound had not bothered her in two years, and yet there seemed to be something special about that place in particular to make it begin hurting again. Behind her, she saw that Tamar seemed unaffected, playing with a loose string on her coat and lazily watching her movements. Whatever was happening, it was only happening to her.

_Why do I even think that it's something?_ she asked herself. Ludomir, naturally. He spent that whole day muttering of incomprehensible horrors situated in the town, it would have been easy for that paranoia to bleed into her subconscious and make of something that was nothing. Hence why the guard walking behind her was unbothered. Superstitious she may be, Tamar was not going to let the ramblings of a drunk man get to her.

The numbing in her shoulder lessened once she reached the seafront, but the pain still there was enough for Alina to lean forward on the parapet, head resting uncomfortably on its concrete surface. The salty stench of the sea was growing unbearable. Not because of the lip-curling taste it left behind, but from the memories she both held dear to her heart and wanted nothing more than to pack it all into a box and throw it into a volcano in Shu Han.

All of her memories related to the ocean were painful in the end. 

She spent most of her free time in Cofton staring out towards the True Sea. At first, it was from relief — a release from heavy shackles that what she left behind could not bother her there. But then the fear set in, and she could not go long without straining her eyes to see what ships were approaching the port. Mal reassured her nearly daily that the Darkling could not find them there — pressing his lips against her brow and whispering, ‘ _I won’t let him take you away._ ’

Alina knew her (filthy, poverty-stricken) freedom was limited. She knew it would not be long before there was a mishap, a miscalculation in something meticulous that would imprison her once more. But she could not have even begun to predict that that small, poor city would be the last time she and Mal would spend time together without erupting into an argument. Whether it was because of her light or Nikolai’s proposal, there was not a moment they shared without a heavy atmosphere that made her yearn for something _different_. Nor could she have predicted that it was because she turned against them both to follow the Darkling instead.

She was not eighteen anymore, and she no longer had second thoughts about her decision or felt the overwhelming guilt that used to leave her paralysed all through the night. But memories of the ocean brought a feeling of sadness weighing heavy on her back — a sadness from not even being able to say two final words to Mal and Nikolai before she left them behind completely. _I’m sorry._

Alina blinked, expecting tears to swell up in her eyes, but there were none. And she supposed that made sense — she already cried all the tears she could for them, all she had left to offer them was her own painful emptiness that plagued her more and more. Instead, she blinked once more and saw something arising from the edge of the horizon.

It was a ship. A large one, at that. With two silhouetted flags dancing in the wind. Yet there was no way to tell any defining characteristics of it. Perhaps that was why Ludomir was so set on getting that lighthouse completed, so he could identify ships far quicker at night than he would without it. And perhaps it was only his effect on her, but Alina quickly turned away from the water with a thundering heart. There was a feeling swelling in her chest as if something was trying to get her to turn back from whatever was to happen, but a new mystery was waiting for her when she turned around.

By the first lane of locked up food vending stalls that block the way to the city park was a girl. At three in the morning — in a town constantly flooded with outsiders coming from every part of the continent — without any supervision, a girl no older than six was standing in the middle of the concrete roads in only a filthy, oversized nightdress, staring at Alina. No, she was not staring at her. She was staring _behind_ her, at the ship, but she was too far away for her to tell if the look in her eye was fear or not.

First, all Alina felt was confusion, and then upon seeing those slight similarities she had to that little girl Maria — tanned skin and curled hair, worry settled over her. She locked eyes with Tamar, who had been curiously watching her the whole time, and nodded. With soundless steps, they both began to approach the girl, but the movement alone seemed to be enough to trigger a reaction and the girl darted away into the streets.

“Wait!” Alina called out, lifting the ends of the skirt up to chase after the girl; however, the boots she wore were not meant for anything more than sitting down and dread crept up how easy it would be for her to fall and twist her ankle.

She followed the girl down the main street of the town, littered with discarded cans and muddied newspapers from weeks prior. There was no way for her to escape, and she slowly realised that, turning her head from side to side too quickly to even be able to process the world around them. She was unsteady on her feet when she faced Alina. Closer to her, Alina could see that something was wrong with her skin — as if it was blistered all over or _burnt_. Her eyes were grey and wild, a mix of fear and adrenaline.

Alina took one step forward, holding out her hand. “Are you —”

In a moment of clarity, the girl ducked away from her touch and ran past her into a dark, foul scenting alleyway between two abandoned buildings. But when she went after her once more, Alina found the girl to be missing. Disappeared on a dead-end alley.

“What did I even think was going to happen?” Alina thought to herself aloud, a pitiful laugh making her realise how out of breath she was. The battles she were in were far and in between, and the endless days spent doing only paperwork and arguing with officials had taken its toll chiefly on her lungs.

“Look,” Tamar pointed to a window quickly closing above them — a makeshift staircase of boxes and trash leading up to it. “I guess that rotten facility is where she calls home... I strongly suggest we do not intervene further. The last thing I need is your boyfriend locking me up in the dungeons because I let you get jumped by whoever else is in there.”

Alina looked at Tamar and asked, “There are other people inside? How many?”

Tamar shrugged. “I can only read one other person. Their pulse is faint and... _weird_ but definitely human,” she met Alina’s wandering, curious eyes and stiffened. “No. Whatever it is that you’re thinking of doing, don’t do it.”

“You saw the same thing I did, didn't you?” Alina walked passed her. “All those scars or...whatever it was, it wasn’t natural. My best guess is that it's torture. Burning her with fire or flaying the skin. I want to make sure she's safe.”

“And my job is to keep _you_ safe,” Tamar followed beside her to the front of the building. It was a fish processing facility, rusted and left to be forgotten along with every other forgotten dream of the town. “You protect our country, that’s what you do. Not its individual citizens. Sometimes you will have to turn away from one person in order to continue keeping the overall populace safe.”

Alina pulled at the hems of the white dress that had been dirtied at the ends from walking and frowned. It was by no means a nice dress, and the person who left it behind certainly did not have a taste for fashion. But its formless shape and general unappeal had grown on her, similar to how the ugliest borzois Nikolai owned were the ones she was most affectionate towards. She silently made note to apologise to Lady Lizavieta for the filth when she returned.

“Sometimes,” Alina muttered, twisting at the rusted lock of the door to try and break it open. “But not all of the time. Not this one, at least.” A loud _pop_ was made and the lock fell to the floor. “You have your job to do and I have mine. I am going inside and I suggest you do the same, Tamar.”

The crevices of the metal doorframe were rusted over from the constant years of typhoons that flooded the harbour. It made a large, shrieking noise as she pushed it open. The noise would have woken up any squatters or alerted whoever hid in the facility’s depths, and it was the one outcome she did not want but it would have to do.

It was cold in there — far colder than the winter breeze outside. A constant drip of water could be heard falling from a broken pipe and into a puddle below. By her best guess, the facility had been abandoned for at least thirty years. Scrappers had torn apart the heavy machinery and grass had long since broken through the concrete. There were four levels to the building, the bottom which she was on was only one room. And sitting at the far end next to a candle placed upon a makeshift altar was the figure of human.

Alina took one careful step forward. Debris littered the ground and it would be difficult for her to travel without making any further noises. But even as she stepped on the unavoidable glass and twigs, the figure did not acknowledge her presence nor did they react an iota to the noise.

As she got closer, she could hear the figure speaking in a low, frightened voice.

“I know. I know what they say. Pop said I would never make it out here, but I had to try, you know? I don't want to waste away like everyone else. Don't you understand?”

She stood beside the figure now. They were covered by a brown cloak, hiding their form and body. All she could see were two slender fingers playing with a yellow brooch. 

Alina placed her hand on their shoulder and struggled to not recoil. They felt to be only bones. She vaguely remembered the time Nikolai took in a stray dog one evening after returning from a state dinner. Even the dog that had not had an owner in months felt more healthy. “Are you alright?”

The person made a yelping sound but did not try to escape her gentle grasp. They swallowed back a lump in their throat and spoke, “Oh...have you seen it too? Then you must be an outsider. Only an outsider can see them... _A curse of nature._ That’s what Pop always called them. But are they? I never should have left Vadhelle, I know. But is it so wrong that I wanted to see the world?”

Alina stayed silent and her gaze drifted to the altar. It was made of sticks and mud and shells. The scent radiating off it was far fouler than any of the decay she had to smell on the battlefield during a hot summer day, but she could not place what exactly the scent was. There were scrap pieces of paper that were written in scratch. She wanted to say it was Fjerdan, but she did not know the language well enough to be certain and the unintelligible handwriting did not help.

As she said no words, the person continued to speak as if to someone else, “A fine thing, wouldn't you say? Most folks from these parts dismiss us. Think we're crazy. Think we’re descendants of those creatures in the Fold because of how we look. But we chose this for ourselves, you know? I...I’ve never been happier! Sankta...Kseniya would be proud of me. I know it!”

She tensed at the mention of the Saint. What was the likelihood of someone just so happening to worship _her_? She never had been the religious type, but the sudden feeling of breath running down her back made her think it to be more than a coincidence.

“If I may...,” Alina trailed off, unsure of how she should be approaching someone like _that_ , if she should be approaching at all.

The person sat up straighter, and more of their arms were exposed. It looked to be just a skeleton with only the thinnest layer of skin. No veins. No muscles. Quite literally, they looked to be only skin and bones.

“Are you alright?” she hurriedly knelt beside them to gather their arm into cloth but quickly yanked her hand away at the texture of the skin. It felt like the slime at the bottom of a forgotten buoy. She looked down at her hand to see that it was wet, the faintest colour of red stained on to it. 

Alina backed away before standing up. Her heart was racing, and she did not know what to do. Were they in pain? Did they need help? Were they just like _that_?

“Alina,” Tamar grabbed her wrist. “We need to go.”

“A...Alina? As in...?” the person tilted their head and looked directly at her. In the candlelight, she could see their face. Their rotting, disgusting face that forced the reemerging memory of Mal's face.

“Go...,” Alina whispered to herself, trying to remember the word as she stared at the person in front of her. Focusing in on the gaping features, if it were not for the eyes, she would not have been able to tell that they were someone different from Mal. “Yes, go. Now. Let’s do that.”

She could not run fast enough out of the building. What frightened her the most, possibly, was how silent and unresponsive the person had been. As she stared at them in horror, they spoke nothing. Said nothing. Did nothing. It did not feel real. Looking at the buildings surrounding her now, she could not be certain that she was awake. That she was still deep within the nightmare.

They did not slow their pace until they were halfway up the hill to Ludomir’s estate. Tamar pressed her hands on her hips and leaned her head back as far as she could, breathing heavily as she looked at Alina and asked, “What the _hell_ was that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a few days late and i apologise but i do not actually care. i've been busy with other stuff and the trailer and the horrendous casting choices for the show adaptation gave me the energy and anger required for me to write.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on [tumblr](https://lyilenor.tumblr.com)


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